The final bell rings, and I'm already pulling out my phone before I'm fully out of my seat. My thumbs fly across the screen as I navigate to our family group chat.
Adam:eating out today, don't wait up
The responses come in almost immediately.
Bianca:k, have fun
Selene:whoaaaaaa! What's going on?
Selene:have a date? With who? With the cute girl with purple hair?
Selene:take pictures!!!
Selene:where are you guys going?
Selene:you want any tips from us? đ
Selene:helloooooooo? Any juicy deets?
Selene:whâ-
I close the family group chat, deciding to relegate the task of dealing with Selene to future me.
Switching over to Quickgram, I shoot Luna a message.
Adam:Meet at the front entrance?
Her reply comes almost instantly.
Luna:Okay! Give me a few minutes. đ
While waiting by the entrance, I remember this café my sisters dragged me to once. It's in the nearby plaza, small, cozy, and incredibly fancy. It, luckily, hasn't been found by Quickgram influencers just yet. The owner's also really nice. He needed a website a while back, and I helped him build one. My first freelancing gig, if you can call "please help me, random teenager" a professional engagement.
Luna appears, still doing her best to turn completely invisible. She's wearing another oversized hoodie, black today, still unable to hide her generous curves. Her cargo pants wrap tightly around her, struggling to contain her thick thighs. Her hair creates a curtain around her face, acting as a natural force field.
"Hey," I say, going for friendly and casual. Absolutely nailing it, probably.
"Hi," she whispers back, barely audible over the sound of students flooding out of the building. Her violet eyes catch the afternoon light, and I'm momentarily distracted by how genuinely pretty they are.
We head to the café in comfortable silence, which is honestly a relief. I feel more comfortable talking without moving so I can maintain a lower volume. Luna seems equally content to just... exist in proximity to me without the pressure of constant dialogue. This feels peaceful.
The plaza isn't far from school, just a few blocks through the upscale part of town where everything looks like it costs three times what it should. We pass boutique shops with names I can't pronounce and restaurants that probably charge you just for looking at their menus.
And then we're there.
The café is tucked between a designer handbag store and some kind of artisanal candle shop. From the outside, it looks sleek and modern: all black accents and floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a view of the interior.
A help-wanted sign hangs in the front window. "URGENT: Part-timer needed," it reads.
"Wow," Luna breathes.
Yeah. Wow is right.
I remember this place being nice, but apparently I need to get my head checked, because nice just doesn't do this place justice. The interior is stunning in that effortlessly expensive way. Everything is black: black furniture, black tables, black chairs, but it's not depressing or goth. It's elegant. Sophisticated. The kind of place where you feel like you should sit up straighter and use your indoor voice.
The furniture is all modern and geometric, with clean lines and materials that probably cost more than my mom's car. Soft, ambient lighting gives the whole place a warm glow, and there's some kind of jazz playing quietly in the background. Not elevator music, but actual jazz, with trumpets and everything.
The café is decently full, though not packed. A few couples are scattered around, some people work on laptops, and a group of college-aged students huddle in one corner. But there are still plenty of private spots, little alcoves and corner tables that look like they were designed for people who don't want to be bothered.
"This place is..." Luna trails off, her eyes wide as she takes it all in.
"Yeah," I agree. "It's really something."
The café owner stands behind the counter, exactly as I remember him, he looks like he stepped out of a period drama about English butlers. Short, impeccably styled white hair, a perfectly groomed white mustache, and he's wearing what I can only describe as butler chic: a crisp white shirt, black vest, and a bow tie. This outfit probably costs more than my entire wardrobe.
His face lights up when he sees me. "Adam! Good to see you again, young man." His voice is warm, the kind that makes you feel like you're visiting your favorite uncle.
I can feel Luna shrinking beside me as we approach the counter. "Hey, Mr. Vale," I say, waving. "Good to see you too. This is my friend Luna."
Luna manages a tiny wave that could generously be described as a hand tremor.
"H-hello," she manages, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Wonderful to meet you, Luna," Mr. Vale says with a smile that could melt glacial ice. "Looking for a table? I have a nice, quiet spot in the back corner."
What a gentleman, he instantly clocked how uncomfortable Luna was and gently offered us a more private seating experience.
"That would be great, thanks."
He leads us past the main seating area to a small alcove near the back. It's perfect, tucked away from the rest of the café, with high-backed chairs that create a sense of privacy without being completely isolated. There's even a small potted plant on the table. Two menus appear as if by magic.
"Will this do?" Mr. Vale asks.
"This is perfect. Thanks."
"Wonderful. Please take your time, and let me know if you have any questions." He glides away with the kind of grace that makes you wonder if he's actually floating.
Luna and I settle into our seats, and she immediately hunches over the menu like it's a shield. I can see her eyes scanning the options, though her hair keeps falling in front of her face.
"They have really good food here," I offer, trying to start some kind of conversation. "Last time I had thisâ" I flip through the menu, looking for what I'm talking about. "Oh! This high tea meal. It was delicious. The presentation alone was beautiful."
Luna's eyes light up. For a brief, glorious moment, I see genuine excitement break through the layers of social anxiety.
Then she sees the price.
"It's... fifty dollars... per person... after tax and tip," she says aloud, her voice getting smaller with each word. "I didn't... bring that much... money with me."
The excitement dies. I watch her expression shift from joy to resignation so fast it's like the happiness was never there. It feels like watching a puppy being told it can't have a treat.
And look, I'm not going to lie, she looks so incredibly sad that my brain just... makes an executive decision without consulting me first.
"I'll pay for it," I say before my rational mind can intervene.
Luna's head snaps up so fast I'm worried about her neck. Her face goes through approximately seven different shades of red in the span of two seconds. "You can't do that for me..." she says, sounding genuinely distressed, like I've just proposed something wildly inappropriate.
"Why not?" I try to keep my tone casual, like I'm not internally screaming at myself for spending over a hundred dollars on a meal when I'm an eighteen-year-old with a freelancing income. "It's just food."
"But⊠that's so much money." She's getting more flustered by the second. "I can't let you... that's... you don't have toâ"
"Luna," I interrupt gently, "you can just pay for me next time, okay?" I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile.
She looks torn, like I've presented her with an impossible moral dilemma. Her hands twist in her lap, and she's biting her lower lip in a way that's definitely going to make this whole "just friends" thing complicated for my stupid teenage brain.
"...Okay," she finally relents, so quietly I almost don't hear it.
Victory. Expensive, probably financially irresponsible victory, but victory nonetheless.
Mr. Vale appears, notepad in hand. "Have we decided?"
"A high tea set for two, please," I say, trying to sound like someone who regularly drops a hundred dollars on meals and not like someone who's mentally calculating how many programming projects he'll need to break even.
"An excellent choice," Mr. Vale says with an approving nod. "I'll be back momentarily."
As he walks away, Luna and I begin talking about our usual topics: anime, manga, and games. The conversation flows easily, as it usually does. Turns out when you're both massive nerds, you never run out of things to discuss.
Then I realize something.
"You know what's weird?" I say. "We talk all the time about games and anime, but I don't actually know that much about you. Like... you as a person."
Luna blinks. "Oh..." She processes this. "That's true... I guess."
We sit there for a moment, both apparently stumped by this revelation.
"I don't know what to ask," I admit. "Could I search online for some ideas?"
She giggles. "Okay..."
I pull out my phone and type "questions to ask to get to know someone" into Google like the socially incompetent person I am. A bunch of lists pop up, and I start scrolling through them.
Right then, Mr. Vale returns with our high tea set, and holy shit, it's even more impressive than I remembered. Three tiers of pure refinement, all arranged on elegant white plates: the bottom tier has different types of finger sandwiches cut into perfect triangles: cucumber, smoked salmon, egg salad, and some kind of chicken thing. The middle tier is scones with little pots of clotted cream and jam. And the top tier is a work of art: tiny pastries that look too beautiful to eat, including what appears to be miniature Ă©clairs, fruit tarts, and something chocolate and shiny. All of this is accompanied by a pot of tea that probably costs more than my shoes.
Luna's eyes go wide. "This looks amazing..."
"Yeah, this is insane," I say, feeling vindicated in my expensive decision.
Mr. Vale gives us a warm smile before retreating back to the counter.
We just stare at it for a moment, neither of us sure where to start.
"I feel like... I should take a picture," Luna says.
"Do it. Commemorate this moment."
She pulls out her phone and snaps a few photos, adjusting angles like she's a professional food photographer. It's adorable.
"Okay," she says finally, putting her phone away. "Now what?"
"Now we eat and pretend we know what we're doing."
We start with the sandwiches because that seems like the logical place to begin. They're tiny, like, two-bite tiny, but they're good. Really good. The cucumber one is refreshing, the salmon is perfectly seasoned, and the egg salad is way better than it has any right to be.
I look back at my phone, picking questions at random. "Okay, uh... favorite food?"
"I really love⊠Japanese food," Luna says immediately. "Ramen especially... I also like those... traditional rice set meals⊠You know, the ones with like... miso soup and grilled fish and rice..." She pauses. "Uhmm... What about you?"
"I'm also a huge fan of Japanese food, I love sashimi!" I say. "But sometimes I also just crave a really good steak. Like, properly cooked, good cut of meat, maybe some garlic butter... Yum."
Luna giggles at the longing expression I'm undoubtedly making.
"Desserts?" I ask, moving down my list of questions.
Luna's entire demeanor shifts. "I love desserts," she says with such genuine enthusiasm that I'm momentarily taken aback. "Cake, soufflé pancakes, warm chocolate chip cookies..." She's practically glowing. "Anything sweet... really."
She practically bounces in her seat when she talks about desserts. I'm momentarily distracted by the motion, and my brain makes an unhelpful observation about where all those desserts might be going.
Ahem.